Longing for God’s Arrival

Luke 1:5–13 NRSV

In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years. Once when he was serving as priest before God and his section was on duty, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense. Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him. But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.

Last week we talked about the “already, not-yet” nature of our faith.

Today, as we enter Advent, we need to attend to the “not-yet” part of this experience. We are longing. Like the prophets of old, who longed for justice to roll down and for captives to be returned from exile, so we long for the world to be made right, for release of the prisoners, for freedom for the addicted and healing for the abused. And yet, we know these things are not yet right.

We’re going to pivot from those Hebrew prophets to a Jewish priest. If we remember back, God’s interactions with humanity have moved on this evolving path — first God, all powerful and all encompassing, creates the cosmos. God breathes into humanity, God is close and God is far. Then we see humanity wrestle with God, wondering if God is simply one of the many gods or the ancient near east, or if YHWH, the one who was, is, and always will be, if YHWH is different, unique to these chosen people. We’ve seen the tension, in longing for a mighty king, while also serving Christ the King, God the Sovereign. We’ve seen kings attempt to be gods. We still see this today. And we’ve heard the crying out for return and hope. Again, longings in a world that is not yet as God intends it, but yet still a world that glimmers with the promise of God’s arrival.

Zechariah is the next evolution of human interactions with the divine. During this Second Temple period, there is a rise of scribal culture, where the old stories and laws are gathered together into a cohesive synagogue worship structure. Zechariah is one of these priests, serving in the temple, in the height of Jerusalem’s ancient culture. No longer are the people in exile. But now, they are occupied. The Roman empire has extended it’s influence across the Mediterranean and Near East. The modern world is on the horizon, as these people groups settle and resettle through times of great upheaval and change.

Herod is King now in Judea. The Hebrew people have yet another king, this time a puppet, installed as a regional governor and commissioned by Rome to oversee the province. Herod is not the promised one. Herod will not be the light that shines in the darkness. And so the people’s longing continues.

And, echoing the stories of Moses, Samuel, and others who God interacts with, we find Zechariah receiving a divine message that his prayers, the things he says in hope and in service of the temple, have been heard and his wife will bear a child. John.

If Zechariah is the evolution of the priestly order, John is the evolution of the prophetic order. John is the truth-teller who will call our Herod, call out Rome, and herald the coming Christ.

God is preparing the way for Christ.

I’m struck, as we’ve gone through the narrative arc of the Hebrew Scriptures these last few months, of the monumental shift that is occuring in this next part of the story. This week is our pivot, from ancient Hebrew people, seeking a homeland and a king. Now, we turn to a very specific movement in 1st century Palestine, where God comes close to humanity in a new way.

The judges and the prophets have foretold of a day when God’s righteousness will be displayed. They tell of the folly of human leaders, but point to a hope for God’s true chosen one to emerge.

We’re at a juncture in history, obviously. Ancient Hebrew theology is now merging with Hellenistic philosophy. The tone shifts. The season is changing.

God is preparing the way for the Christ.

Now, we can look back on history with clear sight, noticing how the occupation of Palestine by Rome has created a more global mission for the church.

God is preparing the way for Christ, in us.

I can feel a sense for Zechariah’s longing. He and his wife, Elizabeth, like so many who figure into the stories of God’s people, they are without a child, barren for many years. I connect with this longing. This week, Stacy shared another Caring Bridge update, filled with a mixture of hope and sorrow. In it, she mentioned the ongoing struggle we’ve had as a couple with miscarriages and fertility. I haven’t been as blunt about this, but in reality, during my time here at St. James, we’ve lost a number of pregnancies, ultimately part of what pointed us to needing to get better understandings of Stacy’s health. Because of the cancer treatment she received 15 years ago, we had to delay beginning our family, as well. Asher, our 11 year old, is an incredible miracle to us, a gift amidst a lot of lost.

I’ve been like Zechariah. I have stood in this sanctuary and cried out to God for help. I have longed like these parents long.

As we learn longing, as much as it really stinks, it also expands us, calls us to grow and make space for that longing to take up lodging in us. Longing doesn’t have to be a negative emotion. It’s a yearning, a deep hope, a radical anticipation that something good might actually happen. That God might actually move. Zechariah and Elizabeth must have known something of this.

The ones who have known barrenness and loss…God is preparing the way for Christ, in us.

Do you long for things to be made right? Do you long for fulfillment and a real sense of belonging? Do you hope for a world where these struggles will cease?

If we answer yes to these sorts of questions, then I would argue that God is doing the same thing in us. God is preparing the way for Christ, in us.

Now, of course, we want to go quickly to anger in moments of loss, moments of dreams deferred. Why God? Why do this to us? Why make us wait? Why not use your supposed mighty power to act?

As I said at the outset, we live in this tension of already and not-yet. We do trust that God is active, here and now. And we long for that action to take full form. We know that the world is not as it should be and we long for that to be made right. Act, God. Move, God!

In these cries, of course, we build our capacity for longing. We come to learn that longing can also be sweet and meaningful. The bright anticipation of a successful pregnancy. The possibility of a fresh start in our career. The glimmers of identity that we see in our young, sparks of what will be. The sweet anticipation of rest, as our bones grow weary. We build the capacity to long and, in doing so, the arrival of the promise is all the sweeter.

God is preparing the way for Christ, in us.

I hope that some of us have found our minds wandering back to the letter to the exiles. As I’ve said, we’re in the midst of a pivoting story, but it of course it echoes back where the people have come from. The people are living in a continued exile, now in occupation in their home land. The people have built greater capacity for waiting, longing, hoping, but feel it deeply still. Come, Messiah! Deliver us!

In us, we build the strength of hope. We face uncertainty or calamity and we turn our hearts to hope. We stretch the muscles of longing, as God prepares the way of Christ, in us.

This story is pointing us to John the Baptist. The physical embodiment of longing for Christ. Now, in John, the way will be proclaimed, justice will be called for, and this faithful longing will have a point of direction. They will wonder if John is the Messiah. Because John, and his parents, have embraced longing and stayed faithful in that pursuit, they have built the capacity now to herald the dawn of the light of Christ.

You see, God is preparing the way for Christ, through us.

Through the ways we build our capacity for hope.

Through the ways we bring lovingkindness and mercy to the world.

Through the ways we build communities where this love is modeled and lived out.

God is preparing the way for Christ, through us.

How will Christ live through us?

In our acts of justice.

In our prayers for healing.

In the ways we love our neighbors.

In the ways we welcome the stranger.

God is preparing the way for Christ, through us.

As the prayer from St. Teresa of Avila reminds us, Christ has no body now on earth, but yours.

We are the hands, we are the feet, we are the body of Christ.

God is preparing the way for Christ, through us.

In this season of Advent, we will follow the story, which prepares the way for the Christ child. Also, as we keep the Hebrew Scriptures in our mirror, we also see that God has been doing this preparation work for a long time. Through the peoples’ wandering, through their longing for a king, through their exile and cries for justice, God has been preparing the people for the Christ.

For us, here and now, we continue on this train of longing and hope. Today’s Advent candle tells of hope. Hope, not for what is fully “yet” arrived. Hope, not for what is. Hope, for what will be, what true life is, hope for the radical possibility that God will actually show up, move in us, and dwell in us.

I’ve had many, many days when I had little to no hope. When the losses and the setbacks and the hurt has been too great. We wander in the wilderness, we long for a home.

And I suppose, truly, hope is not something ever fully realized. Hope is the marker of the “already/not-yet” faith. It anticipates, but is not consummated. Hope is a projection, perhaps. A projection of what could be and a longing to be a part of what makes that “could be” come into reality.

Because, remember, God is preparing the way for Christ.

In us, through us, with us.

That is the last pivot point I want to highlight today.

As we’ve seen the narrative come close, moving from cosmic to personal. It is the movement from the transcendent to the imminent. God comes close to us. In this season, we speak of this as the arrival of Emmanuel. God with us.

God is preparing the way for Christ…Christ with us. Emmanuel.

Will you join in our shared longing? Will you anticipate and hope together with us? Will you share in the sorrow of the losses and celebrate in the joys? This is how we live out our longing, our waiting, our hope. Together.

May it be so in us. Amen.